


Steal A Kiss (And You'll Break Your Heart)

by thefairfleming



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon wonders what secrets his Alayne keeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal A Kiss (And You'll Break Your Heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honey_wheeler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/gifts).



> Taken from a kink meme prompt that asked for an AU where Jon was raised at the Vale instead of Winterfell, leading to complications for "Alayne Stone." This is...very liberally adapted from that, and sort of an outtake of what will proooobably be a bigger story in the future. :)

The hot water has only just begun to chase the chill from his bones when Jon hears the door open.

He doesn't even have to open his eyes. It isn't just the soft tread of her feet or the sweet, faint scent of lemons that seems to cling to her that tells him it's Alayne. It's the way every hair on his body suddenly seems to stand on end, the warmth that spreads through his chest. He has been achingly aware of Alayne Stone since the moment she climbed this mountain, and cannot imagine a time when he will not be.

Jon smiles when he feels her fingertips ghost along the arm he has draped over the side of the tub. "I missed you today," he tells her, and the soft exhale of her laughter spears right through him. "You spent all night in my bed. At most we were parted for a few hours."

Opening his eyes, Jon takes in the sight of her kneeling by the tub. His girl, with her bright blue eyes and sparrow-brown hair, woven into a loose braid that falls over one shoulder. She's wearing only her shift, the firelight making it nearly translucent, and Jon swallows hard against the sudden surge of lust that rushes through him. So many times he's made love to her since that first night in the inn, and yet she never fails to make him feel as lightheaded and green as a boy. Alayne smiles as though she knows a secret, rising up on her knees.

For the first time, he notices the ewer at her side, the small bottle in her hands. Leaning forward, she affords him a truly excellent view down her shift as she presses her lips to his jaw. "But I missed you as well," she murmurs, and Gods, how can he not kiss her now?

Jon twists in the tub, more water slopping over the sides, wetting her shift, and palms Alayne's cheek, her mouth opening to his the moment their lips touch. There's still something shy in her kiss, and Jon finds himself endlessly charmed by that. Wherever she was before she came to the Eyrie, Alayne had known little of men, and what she had known had been cruel and harsh. It makes Jon only ever want to please her, to make her feel safe and loved and adored in his arms. She deserves that.

She also deserves to be kissed gently, but Jon had missed her today, no matter that he'd spent the previous night making love to her. He misses her any moment he's not with her, a development that should perhaps alarm him more than it does. "Besotted," Mya had said earlier that evening, when they'd finally begun the long climb back to the Eyrie. From anyone else, the word would have sounded derisive, but Mya had smiled as she'd said it, even if she had rolled her eyes. And Jon, who had known his impatience to return was etched all over his face, in every hasty movement he made, only grinned.

So he kisses her with all the longing he's felt all day, letting his tongue stroke along hers, echoing what he would do- what he will do- between her thighs later, kisses her until she breathes hard and fast and shakes against him. When they pull apart, Alayne nips at his lower lip, making Jon shiver and slide his hand down to her upper arm, gripping tight.

"Get in here," he says gruffly, and she laughs, that high, sweet laugh that still nearly drives him out of his mind with want.

"I have a task, ser," she says with mock firmness, moving his hand from her arm. He reaches for her again, splashing her further, and seven bloody hells, he had only thought her shift was thin before. Now the water not only renders it transparent, but also makes the linen cling to the peaks of her nipples, the soft curve of her abdomen, the shadowy triangle where her legs meet...

But Alayne will not be deterred, and before Jon can make another grab for her, she dumps the contents of the ewer over his head. The water had probably been warm earlier, but the journey to his chambers have left it little more than lukewarm. Jon splutters and only just manages not to curse as Alayne merely raises an eyebrow and reaches for the little jar she brought, pouring its contents into her hands.

" _That_ ," she says archly. "is what you get for distracting me."

Jon laughs as he wipes the water from his eyes, but there is something in her tone...he and Mya are bastard born and if it is not exactly a point of pride, nor is it one of shame. They are what they are, and have never acted like anything else. Alayne though...Alayne speaks like a lady, and sometimes Jon watches the way she walks, observes the lift in her chin, and wonders if she was always raised a bastard. But then her hands begin to work through his hair, and Jon finds he can't wonder anything anymore.

With a pleased groan, he leans back in the tub, surrendering himself to her tender yet strong hands.

"Like a cat," she chides him gently, but there's a softness in her voice that makes Jon wish he could kiss her again. But that would mean removing himself from her touch, and he is not quite ready to do that yet. The soap she uses smells like lemons, like her, and Jon, who has been hard since the moment she walked through the door, aches for her keenly.

Alayne hums as she scrubs, a sweet yet melancholy tune that skims along his nerves, making him feel more than he probably should. No matter that they are both bastards. Lord Petyr clearly has things in mind for his daughter, things that do not include Jon. He can kiss her and touch her and make love to her, but he cannot keep her. Jon would do well to remember that. But when her fingernails scratch lightly along the nape of his neck, when she kisses him so sweetly on his temple, when he can feel the press of her breasts at his shoulders as she leans over him to fetch his washcloth, it is so very hard to imagine a life without her.

_Besotted_ , Mya had said.

_In love_ , Jon suddenly realizes.

Alayne rinses the suds from his hair, her fingers lingering overly long, caressing until Jon decides he can stand it no longer. Her shriek when he turns in the tub and grabs her around the waist echoes off the stones of the room, but Jon doesn't care if anyone hears them.

He pulls her into the tub as she laughs, batting at his hands. "You're mad."

"For you," he tells her, ducking his head to suck at the soft lemon-scented skin underneath her ear. Sighing, Alayne tips her head back, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

"Oh, Jon," she murmurs in that dreamy tone he's come to love. He maneuvers her on his lap so that he can suckle at the tip of her breast through her shift, and her nails nearly bite into his skin.

"This," he mumbles against her, "is by far the most enjoyable bath I have ever had."

"I can remember none finer myself," she answers, her hips rolling over his.

Water splashes out of the tub again, and Jon is beginning to think there will be more on the floor than in his bath soon, but he finds it hard to care, not when Alayne's dark hair clings damply to her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders. Not when her shift is plastered to her body, revealing even as it conceals, a contrast Jon finds almost painfully arousing.

He wrestles the fabric up to her waist, needing to touch her. The bathwater is merely warm by now, but she is hot underneath his fingers, and Alayne gives a shuddering sigh when he parts her folds, slides a finger inside of her. "Gods," she whispers, and Jon can only press his forehead to hers and reply, "I know."

The first night he ever touched her, there in that thrice-blessed cave, she had felt like the sweetest, softest thing he'd ever had his hands on. He still feels that now as the thumb of one hand works over her, the fingers of the other moving inside of her until she gives a wavering cry, lifting herself up to him. Alayne is always beautiful, but never moreso than when she comes, her cheeks pink, her full lips parting.

The linen of her shift floats around them, finally letting Jon see what he is touching. As always, the bright red thatch of curls between her legs surprises him. The hair on her is a soft brown, only a few shade lighter than his own, but here, she is fire and flame, and once again, Jon wonders what secrets his Alayne keeps. But as they grapple with the shift, lifting it over her head and throwing it outside the tub, he decides he'll let Alayne keep her secrets.

As long as he gets to keep her.


End file.
